What can the wilds offer?
by eihposnostam
Summary: As Marcurio struggles to stay awake during a long journey from Riften to Markarth, Elsam (oc) ponders her relationship with the wilds of Skyrim, and how the mage fits into it all. Lil bit of fluff.
_One of my skyrim characters, Elsam, always has Marcurio as a follower. I don't know what I'm doing._

"We have to travel from Riften...to Markarth…" The lack of enthusiasm in Marcurio's voice contrasted the excited expression on Elsam's face. They were to travel clear across the widest breadth of Skyrim! "Aye," she said, "And then back to Riften again." Marcurio groaned. It was a very long journey, and Elsam, being the stubborn Nord she was, would probably only make one real stop in Whiterun. Otherwise, they'd be camping. Elsam grinned at his displeasure, "We'll leave at dawn tomorrow."

The sky was grey and the air was cool as the two stepped out of Honeyside onto the deck. Elsam had been packing her gear, and layering her armor: a fur-lined tunic, a fur collar, steel and leather armor held together with straps, belts with pouches, and a Snow Sabercat's hide as a cloak. Attached was a fur hood. She also wore a wolf-hide backpack on which hung a wood ax, a torch and other miscellaneous items. With all of the furs and leather, mixed with a bits of harsh, glinting steel, she looked a little barbaric. A beautiful, silvery, shimmering bow upon her back betrayed her look of barbarism, for she was indeed a master of both stealth and the bow.

Now, she bid goodbye to Sofjia and Blaise, (the children she had taken into her home), and Iona had dutifully declared that she'd keep the home, and the children safe. Marcurio, having no connection with either the children or Iona, (the fact that Elsam cared for children befuddled him), headed down the deck steps and whistled softly. Two horses, who knew him well now, came trotting at his call. One of them was native to the region: a dappled grey mare. She was Marcurio's mount. He called her The Good Grey. The other was a massive Haflinger from Markarth. At 17 hands, despite being purebred, he was uncommonly big. All around, a stunning horse. His name was Dune (a Kahjit had said that his coat reminded her of the sand dunes of her home, and the name stuck). Dune was Elsam's steed. Elsam caught up and patted Dune's muscled neck, and he sniffed her hand for grain or grass. She looked at Marcurio and said, "Well, shall we?" Marcurio nodded gravely, and they swung into their saddles.

Hours melted into days as they made their way across The Rift and into the realm of Whiterun. High Hrothgar loomed ever closer, and Marcurio was grateful. They had just passed through Rorikstead, which meant another few hours of good travel were all that was between them and Whiterun. It also meant that a warm, soft bed was near. He was practically sleeping as it was. The night was late already, but Elsam had refused to stay the night in Rorikstead. Why? Because Elsam was relentless. She never seemed to tire! Marcurio would be dead on his feet after a long, hard day of travel and adventuring, (very much like he was now), but Elsam would be as steady as she was at the crack of dawn. The problem was, she didn't always seem to notice, (or care), that her companion was obviously fatigued. She seemed to be driven by...something that wasn't of her own body or mind. He, however, was a perfectly normal human being, and had been yawning for hours before this point. He had practically begged her to stop in Rorikstead, but the horses clip-clopped past the inn, and Marcurio forlornly watched it disappear into the darkness behind them.

An hour later, the moons were sending down their gentle beams of light, illuminating the world in blue and silver hues. Auroras flared and danced in the sky, adding their own hints of color to the midnight world. The air was still, save for the gentle breezes rolling off the mountains, and a bright band of stars lit the blackness above it all. Marcurio might have been in awe of the other-worldly scene if he wasn't literally falling asleep in his saddle. Good Grey, the trusty steed that she was, would feel him start to slump or slip, and she'd kick out a heel to jolt him back awake. Once or twice had been fine, but now she was doing this so often, and with such force that Elsam and Dune noticed. Elsam reined Dune to a halt, and turned to see Marcurio thrown forward in the saddle by Grey's kick. He snapped awake for the 7th or 8th, (or maybe 10th?), time, and shook his head as if to try and shake the exhaustion out of his body and mind, "Ah, sorry, Grey." His voice was thick with fatigue. Good Grey snorted in what was most assuredly annoyance. She was rather motherly, but Elsam could see that even patient, loyal Grey was at her rope's end. And Marcurio was far past that point on his own accord. Elsam sighed, feeling a stab of regret. She should have stayed in Rorikstead. Now, however, that was no longer an option. It was an hour back to Rorikstead, and about an hour to Whiterun. Either way, they had to press on, and she'd rather they press on in the direction of their end goal.. Getting to Whiterun was more than just preferable. This area was densely populated with wolves; camping wasn't really an option. But not that it mattered. Neither Marcurio or The Good Grey would make it another hour, (if not more), in either direction. Grey would end up bucking Marcurio clean out of the saddle, and he'd hit the ground and sleep the rest of the night away. Elsam snorted to herself, "At least they'd both be happy about it." Elsam sighed again, and then spied a tall rock ledge. An idea formed in her head, and she decided to act.

She lined Dune up parallel to the ledge, close enough for her to dismount onto the ledge. Then, she ordered Marcurio off Grey. At this point, and in his mental state, he didn't even question why. He stumbled out of the saddle, and he didn't question why Elsam beckoned him up to the ledge, then practically tossed him into Dune's saddle. Elsam then hopped back onto Dune's back, now sitting behind the saddle. Dune had carried two riders before; this was nothing new, but one of them felt like a sack of potatoes, and that one was sitting in the saddle. Elsam slid her arms around either side of Marcurio's torso and took Dune's reins. She was going to hold him in the saddle if need be. Marcurio noticed, but said nothing. He didn't give a damn about anything right now. Except for sleep. Elsam called for Grey to follow her. The Good Grey seemed to understand what was happening, and livened up considerably. Dune also figured things out as soon as he felt Elsam gently squeeze his sides from a little further back than she normally would. As long as Elsam was in control, that was good enough for Dune. He broke into an easy lope, headed for Whiterun.

Not a quarter-hour into the journey did Marcurio start to nod off. Soon, he had slumped back against Elsam, his head bent to his chest, and his hands over Elsam's forearms. Each stride Dune took had rocked him deeper into sleep, and deeper into Elsam's sturdy frame. Whiterun was close now, the dim lights pin pricking the black silhouette of Dragonsreach were becoming stronger as they neared the city. But now Elsam stopped momentarily to readjust herself on Dune's back. Holding a fully grown man in a saddle atop a large horse wasn't really all that easy, and it was definitely uncomfortable. After she was all situated, she took a moment to breath and relax. The stillness of the night enveloped her. The quiet murmur of the breeze through the pines, the mint-tinted landscape, and the silvery highlights on each surface drew out her senses. She loved this wilderness. She loved being in it, and she loved wandering through it as though she were a primal part of it. Maybe that was her Dova blood, maybe she was simply a born wanderer; she didn't know, but she loved it. ….Only...it was...cold, in a lonely, harsh sort of way. The wilds didn't care for a traveler, a traveler could only marvel at them, and then do his best to survive them. She was not a beast of the wilds...even with her Dova blood, she was still human. And, as much as the wilds called to her, they were still cold to her kind. As she sat and pondered, she became more aware of Marcurio snoozing against her. Almost involuntarily, she wrapped an arm around his stomach. Even through his armor, he was warm.

A chilling wolf howl rose from the plains, breaking Elsam's thoughts. She spurred Dune on quicker now, a little more eager to leave the wilds than she had been an hour before. Dune halted at the Whiterun Stables, with Grey still in tow, but Elsam hesitated dismounting. She looked out to the wild crags and plains and forests, and felt their chill. They had no love for her, yet she loved them. And then there was the mage, still sleeping against her, his back to her chest, with one of her arms still around his ribs. Elsam wrapped her other arm around him, and, somewhat awkwardly, nuzzled her face into his neck. He shifted in his sleep, but she held on. She could feel his pulse through his warm skin. He was a living, breathing thing, of course...but so were the wilds. They were living and breathing, too, yet they were cold.

This mage, she realized, could offer her what the wilds could not: companionship and, more importantly, loyalty. Elsam smiled. She had that already; he followed her everywhere. But she had done little to foster it besides paying him 500 septims. " _And how long will loyalty born from wealth last…?"_ She wondered. Perhaps it was time to stop giving all of her loyalty to something that couldn't return it, and give it to Marcurio, who gave her all of his loyalty, but got nothing in return. She sat straight again, and shook him awake, "We're here." Marcurio came to his senses slowly, and stretched. For a moment he was confused as to why he was riding Dune, but then he heard Elsam dismount from behind him, and he pieced things together. So, he stretched again, and lazily dismounted. He was still tired, but felt much better than before. He gave Elsam a wry, but somewhat fearful look and said, "Are we riding out at dawn again?" Elsam shook her head as they paced up the path to Whiterun's gates, "No, we'll stay here for a few days." Marcurio stopped dead in his tracks, "Why…?" He was almost afraid to ask. Elsam **never** stopped for longer than a day in any given city unless she had to. She shrugged and said simply, "Because I feel like it." Marcurio was take aback...and he was curious. He could sense a shift in her, but he couldn't place it. He chuckled dryly, "I won't argue with that." Maybe more answers would come with time.


End file.
